A King`s Trade

distracted, moved very slowly and carefully, and felt behind him for his musket, his eyes fixed on something beyond. ' Cape buffalo, old cow, anything.'

'Smoked?' Lewrie asked.

'Dried in the sun, maybe with nets to keep the bugs off. Get your musket ready, myhneer… slowly,' duToit instructed in a harsh whisper. 'Take the reins of your horse, too… gently, and do not spook him before the crocodiles do, if you wish to ride back to camp.'

'Croc…?' Lewrie gawped, fighting the urge to whirl about and shout something nigh to 'Holy Shit!'

His horse had drunk its fill, and had grazed over to some green grass, so it never even noticed the crocodile, as big as a Louisianan's cypress-log pirogue, that had stealthily slunk off the far bank of the stream about a musket-shot above them, and had let itself be wafted by the faint current to close pistol-shot, only its horny-scaled head and eyes visible.

'Rub 'em with spices?' Lewrie asked, once they were saddled up and paced out of snapping distance.

'Crocodile?' duToit gawped, turning to look quizzically at him.

'Biltong,' Lewrie said.

'Some do.'

'Cheap, is it?'

'Very cheap, myhneer', duToit replied.

'Might make a nice change from salt-meat junk aboard my ship,' Lewrie speculated. 'And, I've my two cats to feed. Does it keen lone:?'

'Months, Kaptein.'

'Better and better!' Lewrie enthused. 'But it by the bale, I'd expect. By the hundredweight. Soak it in water…'

'You can add it to bredies, soups, stews…' duToit suggested. 'But, myhneer… why buy, when you can shoot your own, and I can dry it for you… for a very cheap price, that is,' he added, with an avariciously sly grin. 'We start now, Kaptein. Small herd of steenbok… there,' he whispered, pointing at something only he could see, at about half a mile or so, for Lewrie couldn't spot them at all. 'Get up close, leave the horses, and… creep up there,' duToit decided, after licking a finger to determine the direction of the wind. 'Take one each, we will have a nice small roast, tonight, and cousin Andries's kaffirs can prepare you the rest as biltong in two days. Hundredweight, as you say, between the pair. And steenbok doe is tender. Ja?'

I knew he was another damn' 'cousin'! Lewrie told himself.

'Might need a third for the hands' supper,' Lewrie speculated.

'I have second musket,' duToit smugly told him, patting a scabbard under his saddle. 'Three steenbok it could be. We try?'

'Aye, let's!' Lewrie agreed with a feral grin.

The brace of steenbok didn't cause the sensation in camp, that evening- surprisingly, duToit had missed with his second shot, once the steenbok had been startled into great springing bounds and leaps, and darting evasions at the crack of musket fire-rather it was the crocodile tail-meat that they'd fetched in, once they'd decided to go back and bag it, after all.

Lewrie and his guide had both shot it in the head at the same time, within two inches of each other, so the skull was ruined for a trophy, but the largest teeth were still impressive, as was the still-moist hide. The black waggoners, bearers, and cooks had sprung on it, to stake it out for drying in the sun, along with the steenboks they had field-dressed, and one of them swore he could string those teeth into a quite nice necklace, if baas Lewrie wished… heathen, savage but nice.

Along with the slices of roast steenbok, there were treats that the burghers and women of Simon's Town had come to sell, now that they were over their 'sulks' at rooineks camping out too near their proper and tidy Boer settlement, and helping themselves to part of the wreck that was theirs by right.

They vended more bredies and mutton boboties, more Sumatran or Javanese satays, along with piping-hot fresh breads and syrupy sweet baked koeksisters or pies. Along with the viands, though, so Lewrie learned, there had come strong and hearty Dutch beer, some local rum, some of the rawer sort of Cape wines, and that gin-clear Dutch peril, that 'tangle-tongue' akavit.

'Sound a tad too me-hearty, Mister Pendarves?' Lewrie scoffed, once he got the Bosun off to one side for a heart-to-heart. The last thing he needed, with the ship's hands off ashore and given much ease from their unremitting daily schedule, was too much drink. Riot and mutiny were the worst he could expect; the least would be people kept on such strict spirit rations drinking themselves into insensibility, and uselessness on the morrow, given the slightest opportunity.

'That Mister Goosen, and Mister de Witt, told the locals that they'd best not get 'em too hot, sir,' Pendarves cautiously laid out in his own defence. 'Small bottles an' such, an' Mister Gamble an' I been keepin' a wary eye on th' trade, too, sir.'

'God above, Mister Pendarves,' Lewrie spat, 'to the Dutch, it's a patriotic duty t'fuddle their occupiers! Without the Master-At-Arms and Ship's Corporals, the Marines, they'll go witless if they get even a touch drunk!'

'Can't keep th' men from all spirits, sir,' Pendarves pointed out, 'beggin' yer pardon, an' all. Half a pint o' beer with supper, a tot o' wine 'stead o' their reg'lar rum issue… well, maybe along with th' rum, but… me an' Mister Gamble warned 'em, stern, Cap'm. Anybody gets rowdy, 'tis my good right fist he'll be eatin'. Along with 'is teeth! They don't have much coin, sir, an' th' Dutch don't give credit, so they couldn't buy all that much. Besides, what little the Dutchies brung, they're chargin' an arm and a leg for, so most o' our lads can't afford a good drunk, An' the Dutchies camped out near us ain't of a mind t'share, like, Cap'm.'

'You've had no trouble, then?' Lewrie wondered aloud, dubious, but slightly relieved by what he'd heard so far.

'Well, we did have a couple o' fights, sir,' Pendarves admitted, looking cutty-eyed, 'but… Mister Gamble jumped 'tween 'em before it got outta hand, an' said, did they want t'fight, do it proper, an' form a ring for 'em. Referee an' all, and wagers laid, so it turned more a… sportin' show, sir.'

'How did the fights turn out, then?' Lewrie asked, snickering, and revising his already-good opinion of his oldest Midshipman a little higher.

'Both ended in draws, sir,' Pendarves told him, with a twinkle in his eyes. 'Not much damage done, and I gave 'em all a good duckin' in th' surf, after. Then swore to 'em they'd be doin' th' most work, come mornin', an' the same'd go for anyone who got so drunk that I took notice, sir.'

'My compliments to Mister Gamble, and to you, Mister Pendarves,' Lewrie said, satisfied by their bare-knuckled solution. 'Just be sure you prowl about before 'Lights Out,' and see them bedded down properly… and mostly sober, hear me?'

'Aye aye, sir!'

'Carry on, then, Mister Pendarves,' Lewrie said, before heading off to his own tent for a scrub-down, and a hot supper.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

It took far longer than anyone's rosy estimates, but the work at last was done. The massive rudder and sternpost of the Lord Clive was off, the bronze fittings, bolts, elm dowels, and bearding strips labelled with paint and itemised for later use, and everything packed up in the waggons. It was a well-fed, sun-bronzed, and much-refreshed working-party of tars that slowly trundled back into the